Choosing Your Own AdventureCh 1
by Ms. Taken
Summary: Welcome! My first foray into fanfic is from Lorelai's POV and speculates on what might have happened if Rory hadn't gotten over her homesickness so quickly after first moving to Yale. Focuses on Lorelai/Rory, Lorelai/Luke and Rory/Jess. Please enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1**

Throughout the 35 years she'd been on this planet, Lorelai Gilmore had fought a valiant war against silence. It's not that she considered herself a _loud _person, exactly---though some people, she had to admit, might beg to differ---but it was just that most of the activities she loved best happened to err on the noisy side.

Rory, the daughter who was scarily similar to her in some ways but mystifyingly different in others, could spend entire days happily reading in a silence so complete that 9 out of 10 monks would wholeheartedly approve (and that's only if the 10th monk was feeling particularly prickly while surveyed). Lorelai liked to read too, but she preferred to do with her beloved classic rock and/or equally beloved cheesy TV blaring in the background. And then, of course, there was her ardent devotion to the art of conversation-making, viewed with a combination of awe, amusement and annoyance by most who knew her. She genuinely liked being on the listening end, and had been told by some surprised-sounding beneficiaries that she was actually quite good at it. But, when other people were stuck in monosyllabic mode, Lorelai was also more than happy to talk enough for them both. She talked approximately as often as most people breathed, and did so at a speed that Olympians would envy. She took a wry sort of pride in her impressive words-per-minute ratio, which Rory had carefully timed and subsequently declared Guiness-worthy.

Luke, who was her longtime friend, steadiest coffee-and-french-fry-supplier and maybe a bit of some other kind of role that she couldn't or wouldn't examine closely enough to define, helpfully pointed out while serving her ladylike breakfast of chocolate chip pancakes, bacons, sausage and home fries that Lorelai even _ate _louder than normal people. She'd let out one of her laughs at that one, and even Luke had allowed one of his rare but oddly contagious smiles; neither Luke nor Lorelai could be considered particularly 'normal' and, deep down, neither had much desire to be. Besides, in the quirky, bizarre town of Stars Hollow that both Luke and Lorelai called home, abnormality _was _the norm.

"If you want to see some dainty, refined, 'the Queen of England can only WISH she had my manners' eating, stop making your coffee so slurpable," she advised, giving her mane of dark brown hair a 'you opened this door, so you'd better be prepared for me to walk on through' sort of toss.

"'Slurpable?'" Luke echoed. His tone was an interesting combination of incredulity, irritability and amusement. It was a tone that he (and, come to think of it, quite a few people) used around Lorelai so frequently that she'd become highly adept at recognizing it. "In what parallel universe is that a word?"

"It's too good for sipping, so hence the slurping. And if you're that committed to serving meals which, like the grossly oppressed children my parents always wanted are to be seen 'seen and not heard', you might also want to stop serving cereals that make all that noise as soon as they come into contact with even a tiny splash of milk and-"

"Okay, you've convinced me," Luke interjected, automatically filling her coffee cup for the fourth time that morning and knowing he'd be refilling it another two to three times before she deemed her body's caffeine-to-blood ratio satisfactory. "It's clearly my _food_ that's obnoxiously loud and chatty, not the woman eating it."

Lorelai grinned at him. He was clad in his usual flannel-and-jeans uniform, topped the baseball cap she'd given to him a couple of Christmases ago and which had seemed all but melded to his head ever since. "I'll just do that thing where I agree with the nice words coming out of that pretty little mouth of yours while pretending not to notice the sarcasm dripping from each and every one of them."

"My mouth is not 'pretty'," Luke informed her, but both of them noticed that the corners of the mouth in question kept stubbornly turning upwards despite his efforts to keep them down.

Thirteen minutes and two more cups of Luke's sublime, life-affirming coffee later, Lorelai approached the counter to pay her check. Luke took it, pretending not to notice that the insufferable Taylor Doose had been there first. Luke was generally an ethical, fair-minded person to the point where Lorelai mocked his 'stickler-ness', but Taylor was just the sort of cardigan-clad catastrophe that proved the exception to even the most noble person's usual rules.

"So I'll see you tonight for the usual artery-clogging bacon cheeseburger?" Luke said.

"Consider it a date," Lorelai confirmed and then, eager to break the pregnant pause and weirdly intense eye contact that followed, hurriedly added, "I mean, it's only a date---and, even then, not really a 'get your corsage and awkward small talk ready' _date _date---if I'm back in time." Immediately, one of her hands flew up her cover mouth, as if to physically block further ill-advised statements from escaping. That was the trouble, Lorelai reflected glumly, with spewing out as many words as she did; the probability was that some of those words were bound to be regrettable ones.

Luke, who'd developed a sudden fascination with the workings of his cash register after the word 'date' was uttered, now looked up again and into Lorelai's flashing blue eyes. "Back from _where_? The inn is practically close enough for me to hear you arguing with Michel about why he doesn't think the overweight guests should be given their pillow mints."

"Oh, that merciless Michel," Lorelai said, with a fluttery laugh so patently false that both she and Luke cringed a little when they heard it. "He's like a combination of Richard Simmons and-"

"_Where_, Lorelai?" At times like this, the tone of Luke's voice contained less of the usual amusement and a lot more of the barely contained irritation.

"Well, if you want to get annoyingly specific about it, I'm driving up to Yale to surprise Rory with a visit," Lorelai admitted, with the air of an addict confessing to having fallen off the wagon. Before Luke could respond, she shuffled out of the diner as fast as her impractically high-heeled boots would carry her and into her waiting jeep.

As she drove to New Haven (a relatively short drive from Stars Hollow, made even shorter by the fact that Lorelai tended to drive as hyperactively as she did most other things), Lorelai sang gustily along with one of her 12 'Hair Bands of the 80s' CDs.

Not even music that undeniably awesome could magically block out all her thoughts, though, and she found herself wondering why she'd felt the need to be so cryptic with Luke about this spontaneous day long getaway. When she couldn't tell Luke about her plans, it was usually because she knew that he'd disapprove…and that, whether or not she wanted to admit it (and generally she didn't), he'd disapprove for fairly valid reasons. But that couldn't possibly be the case this time, right? I mean, how could anyone possibly object to a mother dropping in on her daughter for some quality bonding?

Unless, of course, Lorelai was the daughter in this scenario and it was her perma-disapproving, vaguely tyrannical mother doing the 'dropping'; _that _would be cause for some pretty strenuous objecting. But Lorelai had made sure that the relationship she had with her daughter was radically different from the perpetually strained and fragile one she had with her own mother. Lorelai was more proud of the sterling mother-daughter relationship she'd built with Rory than of anything else she'd accomplished in her life, and contrasting it to the eggshell walking she still had to do with her own mother only made her feel more appreciative of the unshakable bond she and Rory shared.

It was a bond, she reminded herself for what felt like the zillionth time that month, that absolutely, positively couldn't be threatened by the sudden distance created by her daughter's move to college, though Lorelai _did _sometimes find herself half-wishing that Rory had decided Stars Hollow Community College could fulfill her endearingly geeky thirst for knowledge as effectively as the Ivy League located a little further away.

The fact that there was some distance between them now would not only be deemed 'healthy' by Dr. Phil (so little of what Lorelai did could be considered 'healthy' that she rather liked the idea of earning that label), but would also make the time they _did_ spend together all the more enjoyable.

So enjoyable, Lorelai insisted to herself as she pulled into Yale's beautiful campus, that Rory would immediately get over the fact that, as a general rule, she really, deeply hated surprises, even when the surprise in question was her adoring mother bearing gifts (the DVD set of Ab Fab, which fueled just the sort of relentless self-superior mocking they loved best) and the promise of an off-campus dinner of her choice.

And, if you thought of it a certain way (and Lorelai was determined to think of it in _exactly _that way, thank you very much), getting her daughter more accustomed to surprises was actually a very valuable life lesson. After all, the closest she'd ever come to criticizing her daughter was to admit that Rory was entirely too fond of structure.

Having self-talked herself into feeling better about this unplanned drop-in (persuasive self-talking was among her most finely honed skills), she excitedly made her way across the quad towards Rory's dorm. She found herself glancing over at an attractive guy who was either an older-than-average student or a younger-than-she'd-imagined-them-to-be professor. As they passed, Lorelai wondered if he could somehow sense she didn't really belong here---that she'd never had anywhere near the grades or standardized test scores and that on this day she lacked even the permission of her legitimately Yale-attending daughter---but then determinedly shook off the thought as just part of the caffeine-fueled nonsense that sometimes floated around her frequently meandering mind.

Rory's room was on the first floor, which had made moving her in a few weeks ago marginally less of a hassle than it might have been otherwise. (And had it really been a mere few weeks? Why did it feel so much longer?) Out of habit, Lorelai almost did the knock-and-fling, where the knock was merely a warning that she was already in the process of hurtling through the door rather than a request to be admitted. Remembering just in time that her daughter wasn't the only freshman living on the other side of that suddenly imposing wooden door, Lorelai did her best impression of a polite, etiquette-conscious human being my knocking softly and waiting patiently for someone to respond.

Lorelai felt a huge, goofy smile spread across her face as the door creaked open. It faded into a narrower, more measured smile as the pretty but permanently pinched face of Paris Gellar was revealed. Lorelai spread her arms out for a hug, and was immediately rebuffed.

"Lorelai. Why wasn't I informed that you were coming? We have very basic rules in this suite----(although Janet kept accidentally throwing out the laminated copies of the rules and regulations I gave her, so I had to make her a whole new one and glue it to the back of her bedroom door)---and one of them _very _explicitly states that all visitors have to be announced at least 48 hours prior to-"

"Rory didn't know I was coming. _I _didn't know I was coming," Lorelai interjected, wondering whether the people who accused _her_ of manic, warped-speed speech had ever met her daughter's frenemy. And while most of what came out of Lorelai's mouth qualified---even by her own reluctant admission---as fluffy blather, Paris's conversational style seemed to range from anxiety-fueled meltdowns to hostile, thinly veiled threats.

"You know Rory would never break the rules," Lorelai continued, hoping to inspire a smile or at least an invitation inside, as her stylish-but-impractical boots were starting to take their toll on her feet. "She's never forgiven herself for the time she accidentally cut off one of those mattress tags. But not even one of those futuristic precogs or Miss Cleo could've predicted this visit-"

"Come on in," Paris said, probably more to shut up the crazy rambling lady in her doorway than because she'd suddenly decided to care about courtesy. "Feel free to hang out in my and Rory's room---I think you'll notice my side is a little neater. I'll be out here waiting for Terrance."

"New boyfriend?" Lorelai asked, smiling politely.

Paris responded with an exaggerated eye roll. "Not unless you think I have the power to de-gay someone. Terrance is my life coach, Lorelai. You met him the day Rory and I moved in. Is your mind filled up with so many items of earth-shattering importance that there's no room in there to remember one of the most important people in my entire life?"

Lorelai swallowed back a snappy and not especially nice retort, reminding herself that Paris had grown up without much affection and attention, and it was only natural that years of loneliness and insecurity might make someone prickly enough to make your average cactus seem silky smooth by contrast. "Oh, _that_ Terrance. Of course I remember," she said. "He helped you set up that Arts & Crafts corner, right? Well, I'll just leave you to your glue gunning…"

"Maybe you should get Rory a life coach too," Paris suggested. "It might help." The sing-song-y voice of Terrance could be heard through the door, and Paris rushed to usher in her guru before Lorelai could question her about why she thought Rory was in need of the kind of help that an overpriced, professional advice-dispenser could provide.

Lorelai stood awkwardly in the center of Rory and Paris's room before finally perching on the edge of her daughter's carefully made bed. Back home, Lorelai had no qualms about flinging herself on Rory's bed even if her poor daughter happened to be in it at the time, but somehow this was different. This wasn't their home, the one that she and Rory both loved so much and took pride in, and more formal rules seemed to apply. Lorelai perused this shoebox that her daughter would share with the nutty but loyal Paris for the next 9-10 months. Rory seemed to be using most of what Lorelai had rather frantically run around between Stars Hollow and New Haven buying her, though she noted with some amusement that the giant glittering disco ball she'd purchased had been shoved towards the back of Rory's partially open closet. Rory had never developed quite as fine an appreciation for horribly cheesy kitsch as her mother.

She spent the next few minutes examining the photos Rory had on her desk and bedside table: a few of Rory and Lorelai together, looking somehow even closer in age than they really were; one of Rory with her grandparents (who also happened to be Lorelai's parents), which Lorelai quickly skipped over; one of Rory with her best friend, Lane Kim, taken when they were both much younger or at least looked it. Rory's father, Christopher, was conspicuously missing from Rory's picture collection, and Lorelai was wondering whether this should bother her when the room filled with the tinny sounds of David Bowie's "Rebel Rebel", the current of her cell phone's frequently changing ring tones. Lorelai lit up when she saw the name flashing across her screen.

"Prodigal Daughter! Where on this rapidly deteriorating planet are you?"

"Where all prodigal daughters eventually go---home." Rory's voice sounded softer and more subdued than usual, but then again Lorelai often found people sounded muffled on cell phones, which she tried to counteract by talking even louder than usual.

"You're _home, _as in Stars Hollow_? _Well, guess where I am…and, yes, as you well know I'm one of those people who really _does _make people guess rather than just telling them the answer."

A few seconds later, Lorelai bade a hasty farewell to Paris, who postponed her heated debate with Terrance over whether a gluten-free diet might lead to inner tranquility long enough to give Lorelai an unexpected but not unwelcome hug.

Lorelai, for whom patience had never been so much a virtue as a completely foreign and not especially valued entity, barreled along at about 15-20 miles over the speed limit until she reentered Stars Hollow.

As Lorelai flung open the front door of their house, she was already chattering merrily away about Lorelai making a spontaneous journey to Yale at the exact same time Rory was en route to surprise her here at home was sort of like Gift of the Maggi without the element of touching self-sacrifice. She shut herself up abruptly, however, when she saw her daughter's expression.

"Rory? Honey, what's-"

"Mom!" Rory leapt off the couch and hurtled into her mother's arms with a speed that that the gym teachers who'd given all that 'needs A LOT of improvement' feedback to her proudly un-athletic daughter had never seen.

By unspoken but mutual agreement, they headed to the kitchen to gather enough provisions to fortify a large segment of the Israeli Army, including rare delicacies like a bowl of brownie batter mixed with cookie dough and topped with vanilla ice cream, hot fudge and a mountain of whipped cream.

"Should we call Pete's for an everything-but-the-sink pizza and some extra-cheesy cheese bread too?" Lorelai asked, and when Rory agreed that this would probably be necessary, Lorelai's concern only deepened. Junk food consumption had always been a highly enjoyable (albeit probably artery-clogging) part of their daily bonding, but when they kicked it up from pleasant pig-outs to a level of gorging that threatened to test even their curiously iron stomachs, it was usually a sign that one or both of them had sorrows to munch away.

Lorelai forced a smile. "So I'm guessing you made this surprise trip home on a random Thursday because you missed your loving matriarch _and _because you wanted to get a jump start on celebrating National Headlice Month, for which Taylor's organizing a 'getting to know your scalp' seminar this very weekend?"

Rory grinned---the 'oh, how I love this goofy, crazy town' grin Lorelai recognized well, especially since she often wore the same on herself---but it quickly faded into another expression that Lorelai couldn't read as easily.

"You know," Lorelai said carefully, spraying some jalapeno cheddar 'cheese like product' onto a cracker, "pretty much everyone gets homesick when they move out for the first time. I mean, _I_ didn't, but then I grew up in a home that had much more of an 'Alcatrez' vibe. So it would be natural---_expected _as a rite of passage, even, if you missed it here. I'd take it as a sort of compliment, even."

"Sure, it's a_ huge_ compliment," Rory agreed. "I mean, I wouldn't be so homesick if I didn't love you and our house and this town and our lives here, right?"

"Right," Lorelai agreed, albeit a little cautiously.

"And even being here now---with you, on our couch, eating junk food, knowing Babette is probably still peering through the bushes trying to figure out why I'm home on a weekday---it's like how super-religious people like Mrs. Kim must feel when they return to church after not being there for a while…like this almost spiritual rush of 'ah, THIS is where I'm happy and belong.'"

Lorelai took a thoughtful sip of soda. "Well, since you're in such a spiritually connected state, do me a favor and ask God or Moses or Buddha or whoever why this seemingly innocent conversation is making me strangely nervous."

"God-Moses-Buddha says anyone who drinks about 17 cups of caffeine a day is _bound _to be a jittery mess for no good reason whatsoever," Rory said wryly, but Lorelai noticed that Rory was diligently avoiding her eyes.

Lorelai took another spoonful of whipped cream to fortify her for what was turning out to be a tricky conversation. "Change is hard, hun. Believe me, some nights I come home after work and walk right back out again because everything that's in here reminds of the one thing that's _not _here; you."

"So I'm a 'thing' now?" Rory quipped, but Lorelai could tell by the slight quiver in her voice that she was close to tears. Neither she nor her daughter were big criers, generally preferring sarcasm, forced cheerfulness or just good old-fashioned bottling up to tears. If Rory was even on the verge of crying, then this discussion and the feelings behind it were even more serious than Lorelai had thought…and she suddenly wondered if she was up to the task of handling it. Lorelai was great at injecting potentially boring conversations and activities with fun; at encouraging others to feel the same enthusiasm and joy that she did at life's often overlooked little phenomena. When it came to dealing with more serious, negative emotions, though---both her own and other people's---she knew her track record was less impressive.

"The thing with changes, though," Lorelai continued, hoping she sounded a lot wiser and confident than she actually felt, "is that just because they're hard to deal with doesn't mean they're not right."

"No, but…there are signs."

"_Signs?" _Lorelai echoed, not bothering to hide her skepticism. "How about a big, red octagon sign that says 'STOP' before you start suddenly believing in hunches and omens and making decisions based on something rising across Saturn or whatever."

Rory put down her chocolate-coated spoon. "Mom, you know how we thought college would be all about learning things? Well, it already has been, but maybe not the stuff we thought I was going to learn. I'm just now realizing things…about myself, about how I've made my choices, about how college isn't for everyone-"

"Not for everyone," Lorelai agreed, feeling like oxygen was disappearing from the room at a rapid rate, "but college _is _for people who are brilliant and determined and ambitious, especially when those brilliant, determined and ambitious people are also practical enough to know that, without a college education-"

"That without a college education they might turn out as happy and successful as you?" Rory said, managing to sound annoyed at Lorelai and proud of her at the same time.

Before Lorelai could sputter out some semi-coherent and probably fabricated statistic about the correlation between college dropouts and subsequent misery, they were interrupted by the doorbell.

"It's probably just a Girl Scout, and, believe it or not, this conversation is even more important than making sure we're stocked up on Somoas, Rory. Don't-"

"I have to answer it," Rory said, climbing off the couch. Lorelai suddenly noticed that Rory was wearing makeup, which her naturally pretty but admirably un-vain daughter rarely bothered to do unless it were a special occasion.

"Rory-"

"Mom, I have to," she said again, sounding apologetic. "It's…it's one of those 'signs' I was telling you about."

And before her daughter had swung open the door, Lorelai had a feeling she knew all too well who would be on the other side.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

**Lorelai could count on one purple-polished hand the number of times in her life she'd been genuinely happy to be wrong. There was the time she feared things between her and Luke would never be the same following a brutal fight they'd had in the wake of Rory's car accident, though time and an alter ego named Mimi had eventually rendered this bleak prediction incorrect. Before that, there'd been her conviction that those hideously crimped, permed and hairspray-abusing hairstyles of the 80s would never, ever fade into obscurity, which also turned out to be mercifully unfounded. **

**And now she could add another item to that list: Lorelai had sensed with every ounce of her hyper-caffeinated, sugar-saturated being that Jess Mariano had been the one ringing that doorbell, a mere seconds and inches away from being back inside their house and their lives. A relieved smile spread across her face as the true identity of their doorbell ringer was revealed. Unless Jess had suddenly undergone a six inch growth spurt and morphed into a vaguely effeminate, haughtier-than-thou Frenchman, they were in the clear…at least for now. **

** "Why do you look so happy to see me, Lorelai?" Michel asked, his dark eyes narrowing with suspicion. Lorelai fought the urge to tease her co-worker and tentative friend about how this sort of facial expression could only hasten and deepen his crow's feet. In his personal war against aging and physical imperfection, the deeply vain Michel had already spent hundreds of dollars on the kinds of creams and potions that only a 3 AM informercial could love.**

** "Michel, I'm **_**always**_** happy to see you," she lied merrily. "Day or night. At work where I'm **_**supposed**_** to see you or even, say, here in my house when you show up without warning…"**

** Michel heaved one of his melodramatic sighs. "I come bearing terrible news, Lorelai. Just terrible. I hope you will not react with one of your unhelpful little 'jokes.'"**

** "Okay, so…sharing time." Her smile had once again faded; none of her smiles, Lorelai noticed, had long life spans today. **

** Michel wiped a few beads of sweat off his forehead with a custom-made handkerchief. "The new guests are not coming, and the old guests are not leaving. This is very stressful for me, and when I get stressed out, I-"**

** "Yeah, I'm very familiar with how you get," Lorelai said, unable to suppress a shudder as flashbacks of various Chernobyl-like meltdowns trotted through her mind. **

** "Michel, can we get you some of our special stress-reducing food?" Rory piped up helpfully. In the presence of 'company', Rory had automatically snapped back into the polite, relatively problem-free 18-year-old who often seemed to possess more poise and maturity than people twice her age (including, some might snarkily suggest, a certain woman who happened to have given birth to her). Rory might be only a few weeks into her freshman year at college, but Lorelai reflected that when it came to the art of compartmentalizing, her daughter might already qualify for a de facto PhD. "We've got raw brownie batter and---oh, okay, I can deduce from the gagging that that isn't quite what you feel like, so maybe some spray cheese or tater tots, or spray cheese **_**on **_**the tater tots?" **

** Michel actually took a few step backwards, as if frightened that his hostesses may try to force these unwanted foods down his carbophobic throat. "Much as I am tempted to join you in your admirable quests to reach the 500 pound mark you must achieve to guarantee your spots on The **_**Biggest Loser**_**, I am afraid that I must regretfully decline. Now, Lorelai, about---wait, why are there two Lorelais here? The younger and shorter one is supposed to be away receiving an education on how to be more cultured than your mother, no?"**

** Rory smiled with a sweetness which, while sincere, belied the wry sharpness often lurking underneath. "I've missed you too, Michel. That's why I'm home, actually. Missing---well, not just you, of course, but all the people I love who-"**

** "Yes, yes, that is very touching, and had I not already used my handkerchief to mop up my perspiration, I have no doubt I would now be whipping it out to wipe sentimental tears from my beautiful eyes. Perhaps we should spend time reminiscing on our barely existent relationship rather than thinking about how to save the inn that is your mother's and my sole source of income."**

** "Oookay then…consider our trip down memory lane postponed indefinitely," Rory said, as she and Michel exchanged a rather good-natured eye roll. She looked over at her mother. "I'm sure this inn thing isn't anything you can't handle, right? You're, like, super-manager. One year, I almost made you a cape, but then I realized it was exactly the type of thing Kirk would wear and decided against it."**

** "I----and, wow, that cape idea was well-intentioned but a little disturbing, sweetheart---need to know why, exactly, our scheduled new arrivals are not arriving and our scheduled departures are not departing. Care to provide some insult-free elucidation for me, Michel?"**

** Michel, adhering only occasionally to Lorelai's requested moratorium on insults, launched into his explanation. After taking the time to glean the facts hidden behind both Michel's heavy accent and penchant for melodrama, Lorelai deduced the culprit: an imminent blizzard that had current guests scared to travel home and expected guests unlikely to arrive. **

** "And the current guests don't feel they should have to pay to stay longer, as if the oh-so-glorious pleasure of their company is somehow compensation enough. The ones who are backing out of their reservations refuse to pay the cancellation fee. They are 'exempt', they say, because this is what those horrible insurance soulless insurance companies call 'an act of God'…is it God, I asked, who made them too dumb to get the snow tires they need to travel?"**

** "A blizzard **_**that**_** huge in September?" Rory said incredulously. "I mean, sure, this place can be Arctic-like in December, but I wonder if this would set an all-time record for most frozen water before Fall Equinox! I need to look up the ---oh, mom, can you help me remember which of our 312 stations is the Weather Channel? I love trying to figure out all the different colors on those maps mean!" **

** While Rory retreated happily into her research-gathering, information-seeking geekdom, Lorelai snapped into a mode that came, much to everyone's surprise, just as naturally for her: the competent and effective businesswoman. Unfortunately, her savvy negotiation abilities, clear-headed decision making and knack for instinctively understanding how to best communicate with each customer all went AWOL when it was time for these same skills to be applied to her personal life. **

** After making a few calls, her tone ranging from 'take no prisoners' to 'Kumbaya-esque' depending on what was called for, Lorelai hung up the phone and reported to a still fretting Michel and a weather-enthralled Rory that the inn was prepared for these situations and would probably end up losing less money than Michel spent on a week's worth of hair gel. "You know, Mother Nature is the only mother who could possibly rival mine for merciless ferocity and ruthless-"**

** Lorelai's metaphor was interrupted by another ring of their doorbell. For the second time in the past half hour, Rory practically sprinted to the door after a perfunctory hair check and, also for the second time, her immediate, unguarded reaction was one of disappointment. **

** "Is this a bad time?" Luke asked, obviously noticing that Rory's greeting lacked some of its usual warmth. Luke, as Lorelai knew better than anyone, noticed a lot more than people gave him credit for. **

** "No! You know I'm always happy to see you," Rory assured him. Lorelai could tell that her daughter was being sincere, not just polite, and hoped Luke could detect the same thing. "Luke, if it weren't for you, I would probably have been malnourished, and our house would have fallen apart about a decade ago and-"**

** "Okay, my precious bundle of joy, can you please compliment Luke in a way that **_**doesn't **_**simultaneously make me sound like a more neglectful mother than Joan Crawford?"**

** Michel and Luke were then forced to listen to Rory and Lorelai launch into the "wire hangers? WIRE HANGERS?" scene from Mommy Dearest. Luke looked slightly amused and more-than-slightly horrified to realize that, after hearing them reenact this bit so frequently over the years, he had practically memorized it right along with them. **

** Rory broke off mid-line and gave Luke an apologetic little smile. "So you do feel welcome, right? It's just that I was…um..."**

** "Just that you were expecting Jess?" Luke suggested, he took off his blue baseball cap, which was covered with a few snowflakes that had already started to fall. **

** "Well, not exactly 'expecting' in the sense that…" Rory trailed off uncertainly but then, looking relieved to have this thinly veiled secret out in the open, said in the firm, clear voice that Lorelai had always both admired and felt vaguely intimidated by: "Actually, yes. I'm meeting Jess here."**

** "I'll lock up our valuables," Lorelai mumbled, but Luke and Rory either didn't hear her or (more likely) chose to ignore her. **

** "I came to warn you," Luke explained, "just so you wouldn't be too surprised when-and-if he popped up with his…Jess-ness."**

** "Well, turns out the 'she' of 'we' didn't need the warning that Hurricaine Jess was blowing this way," Lorelai said, giving her daughter a meaningful, 'we'll talk sooner rather than later' look that Rory very deliberately did not return, "though **_**I **_**always appreciate it when...and, wow, I'm kind of making this about me when it really kind of isn't, huh?"**

** "A little," Luke agreed, while Michel chimed in with "Yes, and frankly, it is a little sad. Do you not have boys your own age to concern yourself with, Lorelai?"**

** At the moment, she actually didn't, which is part of why Lorelai felt Michel's snark deserved an even sharper than usual comeback, but the Frenchman tried to deny her the opportunity. "I am going to leave now, before I am forced to make awkward small talk with your unpleasant nephew, Luke."**

** Luke, who criticized Jess often but snapped into protective/defensive mode whenever someone else did, had started to point out the irony of Michel labeling someone else as 'unpleasant' when the young man in question strutted through the door. **

** Well, okay, so he **_**did **_**ring the doorbell first and wait to be admitted, though Lorelai was convinced it was a grudging, 'I'll be polite just this once, but don't get too used to it' sort of ring. And some might call what she'd labeled a 'strut' more like a basic, one-foot-in-front-of-the-other walk. While Rory and Jess exchanged looks that Lorelai queasily noted seemed smoldering enough to set the room's wooden furniture ablaze, Lorelai took a few of the deep, cleansing breaths she'd learned from her brief and ill-fated attempt at yoga. **

** "Hi, Jess! It's just such a pleasure, a real…pleasure…to see you again," she said, with a gritted teeth phoniness that earned an eye roll from Luke and a snicker from her co-worker. **

** Jess responded with his usual effusiveness: a barely audible grunt. Jess, as Rory and even Lorelai well knew, could be exceptionally eloquent when the mood struck him…it's just that that particular mood seemed to strike Jess about as frequently as an asteroid struck the earth or Hollywood came out with a romantic comedy that was genuinely romantic and comedic. **

** "You're wet," Lorelai pointed out, like maybe Jess hadn't deduced that on his own. **

** "It's the snow," Jess muttered. "Only Stars Hollow could somehow get pounded with a blizzard in the middle of September."**

** He said the words 'Stars Hollow' in the tone Lorelai might use to say 'Alcatraz' or 'seventh circle of Hell.'**

** "So why'd you come back to the town you hate so much?" Luke demanded.**

** "So why do you **_**stay **_**in a town you hate so much?" Jess retorted, and then made a point of looking back and forth between Luke and Lorelai until the former was shuffling his feet and gazing intently at the floor while the latter nervously twirled a stray dark curl and contemplated whether homicide was ever considered justified by the Connecticut courts. Wearing a small smirk, Jess made a show of looking between Luke and Lorelai one more time before saying "Oh, right...**_**that's**_** why."**

** Rory took Jess's hand and led him towards the front door. Lorelai wasn't thrilled to see her daughter hand-in-hand with her possibly-no-longer-ex boyfriend, but she **_**was**_** at least pleased about the direction in which Rory seemed to be leading him: out of the house. **

** "It's already wet and gross out there," Jess reminded her. He looked down at their clasped hands and couldn't suppress a smile---a genuinely happy one that was very different from the cynical smirk to which Lorelai was far more accustomed. **

** "Good, because I'm a fan of WetJess," Rory said, in that shyly teasing way Jess often seemed to bring out. "Need I remind you of that time with the sprinklers and…" With Rory bidding the rest of the group farewell with a quick wave and Jess not bothering to acknowledge any of them at all, the pair made their way outside into what already looked like a raging snowstorm. Lorelai had a desperate need to pull Rory back inside, to protect her not so much from the weather as from the other things (and people) out there, but closed her eyes and willed herself not to morph into the sort of psycho over-protective mother bear that would only end up humiliating them both. **

** Luke glanced out the window and then shifted his eyes back to Lorelai. "I didn't know he was coming," he said, sounding apologetic. "I'm guessing he didn't know he was coming, either, but it's not like I'm the guy to figure out how his mind works."**

** "No one could," Lorelai assured him. "But you at least **_**try **_**to understand Jess. That's more than most people in his life ever bothered to do, so…" she trailed off, realizing with a slight pang of guilt that she was among those who hadn't exactly put forth much effort with this prickly, defensive child despite (or perhaps **_**because**_** of) her daughter's deep affection for him. "You were good to him, Luke. Really."**

** "Yeah, well, I'm kind of genetically obligated to at least try not to hate the guy," Luke said. He'd been uncomfortable with compliments of all kinds for as long as Lorelai had known him. **

** "Thankfully, I share no such genetic obligation," Michel cut in. "Now, may I please go?"**

** "No one's stopping you," Luke pointed out.**

** "I think maybe **_**that**_**'**_**s**_** stopping him, though," Lorelai said, pointing outside. They pulled apart her curtains (homemade ones which Lorelai loved and her mother hated), revealing their first full view of a beautiful yet plan-altering snowfall that showed no signs of slowing down. **

** "I hate the snow!" Michel burst out. "I hate it! I hate it very, very much!"**

**Lorelai exchanged an amused smile with Luke. She'd told him endless stories about Michel's temper tantrums, in which his words and the tone in which he uttered them reverted to what you might expect from your average five year old, and was delighted that Luke was witnessing one in person. "Oh, I absolutely **_**love**_** the snow," she exclaimed, both because she was unable to resist egging on Michel and because it happened to be true. "It's utterly magical and-"**

"**We are stuck here now!" Michel shouted. "Like prison inmates or people who sign up to do one of those humiliating reality TV shows! We will be forced to endure one another's company until it stops…do you not realize the gravity of this situation?"**

"**I guess we are here for a while," Lorelai conceded. She looked around her living room, which looked a lot smaller now that she knew it would have more than the usual one or two people in it for the foreseeable future. **

"**I guess we are," Luke agreed. Lorelai whirled around and studied him more closely than usual: was he unhappy at the prospect of being trapped here? Vaguely annoyed at the inconvenience but philosophical about it? And was there a reason why she suddenly felt compelled to know exactly how Luke Danes felt about spending the next few or maybe even several hours with her in her home? **

**For a moment, Lorelai's mind was too busy mulling over these questions to focus on the fact that when she'd gazed out the window at this formidable blizzard just moments earlier, Rory and Jess were nowhere to be found. **


End file.
